Damaged Goods
by Wesley B
Summary: At first, Dr. Reid and Will Graham share a break room. Then they share coffee. And then they learn that they share a whole lot more than that- for better and for worse. TW for future self-injury, drug abuse.
1. Chapter 1

The sun inched slowly over the horizon. Agonizingly slow, each degree one of intense focus. Each of Will Graham's moments took intense focus, too. Each foot planted firmly on the ground. Sitting straight up, fists clenched in his lap. Will's eyes drilled into his knees, but he wasn't looking. He didn't hear, either, and time seemed not to pass. Every ounce of him was intentional. Deliberate. Controlled. He breathed deeply and shook himself. Force the awakeness. The sun was fully up. Will was not, but he was awake enough to make himself work.

It was the kind of day that called for a lot of control. He'd felt it the night before, a knot in his chest. His mind was slipping, a bit, and he needed to hold on as long as he could. He knew the consequences. Not that he'd told or shown anybody- but how they'd never guessed escaped him. Hannibal probably had guessed Will's bad habit, or at least had a clue. No one else, though. Self injury wasn't something he was ashamed of, per se, but he wasn't proud either. It was like eating, showering, using the restroom. He considered it a necessary function, but one he only turned to when he felt like he'd lost all other control in his life. His anchor in the chaos. Still, Will made a point of holding out until he hit his lowest of lows and darkest of darks, when he needed it most. He knew the dangers of making it a regular occurrence

He could tell he was slipping because of their case- a particularly strong trigger. Young women found with their wrists, thighs, and abdomens skinned. And maybe Jack or Beverly or Brian didn't know what it was, but Will did. It was too relevant, like a sign from the universe. And given that all of these girls were in their teens, he knew that whoever was doing this was very intentional in his plan. _I see these girls- pitiful, lost. Looking for love or attention or a release. But I know what they really want. They want to stop the suffering. So I help them. I do for them what they've really meant to do to themselves. Her wrist opens so wide, she gasps and cries out in relief. It hurts her, I know, but she and I both know that this is the best way. When she's gone, I purify her. I take the skin from her wrists, her thighs, her stomach. I take away all of her scars, and she is pure again. This is my design._

"He's an angel of mercy," Will posited, turning from the crime as soon as he could. "These girls were self harmers, he thinks he gave them what they wanted. What they needed."

"Is it?" Jack crossed his arms and frowned at the two bodies on the other side of the yellow tape. "What they wanted?"

"Probably not. Most view self harmers view their habit as a survival mechanism. That is, until they feel there is no longer a way out. Then they turn to is as they always have- as their savior." Will rubbed his forehead, stressed. He didn't want to think about this at all. It had been ten months since he'd hurt himself, and longer since he'd done anything that ended with him in the hospital, getting stitches. Almost two years. "I'd like to think these girls had a chance."

"Don't bother. They're dead already, and your concern had better uses elsewhere." Jack spoke quietly, but with a hard undertone. Will remembered- Bella's cancer was getting worse. That effectively ended their conversation, for the better part of the day. Jack had later mentioned briefly about another team of profilers who would assist them, but Will was too tired and distracted to respond beyond a noncommittal nod.

Will almost didn't sleep at all that night. So terrified was he of waking up with a knife in his hand, he spent the night sitting in his yard, cold and damp grass soaking his shorts. When the sun rose, he wasted no time brewing a large mug of coffee before digging in to work. He only dozed at the wheel once. The day was overall uneventful- he watched agents chase down leads and interview family members. He taught his classes, he nodded to people in the halls. All the signs of a normal life- mostly. He avoided the autopsy room. It wasn't the corpses that worried him, but the large number of sharp implements in the room. Jack probably worried that Will would use them on others. Will worried that he'd use them on himself if given the chance. He hoped that he'd have enough control, if it came to it, but better safe than sorry. Sorry and jobless.

The next two days were even less interesting- he didn't teach on the weekend. He did go in to work, though, because it was better than staying at home. He wasn't any more active at the BAU- he was simply near people who were probably keeping an eye on him, to some capacity. It got him through the weekend. Besides that, he slept deeply. Monday morning he woke up on the kitchen floor, in front of the silverware drawer. Shaken, he picked himself up and dressed as cleanly as he could. Some element of us ruffled mindset surely showed through, though.

Dr. Lecter and Dr. Bloom had noticed. Jack, if he did see, staunchly ignored Will's oddness. As far as Will knew, Jack didn't care for much beyond reaching his goals- that was how he'd gotten where he was, and how he held this job which rattled so many others to the point of breaking. Hell, even will felt like he was breaking sometimes. Now, more than ever.


	2. Chapter 2

Things had mostly been fine with Reid for a while. He didn't always sleep well, and when he did he dreamt of Maeve, but he still managed to do his job and live his life without shutting down. When he did hit a low spot, though, no one was the wiser. Reid had prepared a mask- honed over many years of making sure that no one knew what was wrong, for fear that they'd put him on the sidelines or see him as weak. The term was "fronting," generally used to describe someone who suffered from mental illness but spent all of their energy on hiding that from the world. His front, his mask, had been made about the time his parents split up, taking shape as his mother got worse and worse. The years of bullying and distress had him well practiced by now, and he just did what he had to in order to get by. He was doing that when the jet landed back in Virginia- his headphones in and eyes closed to the world. As the plane slowed, and eventually came to a stop, he forced himself to breathe.

Their case had been awful, and dark, and had not ended in the way he'd wished it to end. They saved one life and lost another, and the saved life had been their unsub. He'd wanted to think of anything but Maeve on the way home, but he saw her- empty eyes and a lifeless body and _so much blood-_ and Reid knew it would be a while before he would get her out of his head. The team disembarked, stepping into the cold Virginia winter, and Reid wrung his hands, trying his best to think of other things. Books and classes and being sure to eat on time and stay sober- the things that usually occupied his mind when he wasn't on a case. When Reid had made it home, he planted himself on the couch with a mug of tea and a book on WW1 Russian politics. He woke up there in the morning, and after confirming that it was indeed the weekend, he settled back in with a new mug and went back to the book, determined not to move until Monday morning when he absolutely had to.

Monday morning, he absolutely had to. His knees were cramped and his hair was dirty, but he'd finished that book and two others in a decent amount of time. By the time he cleaned himself up and got to work, the rest of the team had already arrived. Agent Hotchner signaled him into the conference room, and the rest of the team shortly arrived. Waiting with Agent Hotchner was another man, equally as tall as Hotch but more imposing. He didn't look like he'd smiled at all in his life, and his posture screamed alpha male. When everyone was settled, Hotch cleared his throat and spoke.

"Team, this is Agent Jack Crawford, head of another BAU team. They work most of the local cases, and they've been called in on one where they've requested our help." Hotch nodded at Jack, who stepped forward.

"Our current case is a killer who is partially skinning young women and dumping their bodies in alleyways. However, we're also working on the Chesapeake Ripper case. My team cannot do both at once, and I hope that by pooling our abilities and resources, our teams can clear up one if not both of these cases. My team will be here tomorrow with what case files they have on the skinning murders, we'll start then." Agent Crawford spoke with as much authority as Agent Hotchner, but Reid could see that they were very different people. Jack didn't have as much attention for his team. He was far more driven for his own goals, without much consideration for others involved. Reid was nervous to be working with him. A leader who could not take care of his team might not always have a team to lead.

"I expect to see you all bright and early tomorrow, prepared for hard work. We're not taking any other cases until this most recent unsub is found. Use today to finish any paperwork you have left over, thanks." Hotch dismissed the team, then turned to discuss something more with Jack. Agent Blake caught up with Reid as he began rearranging his desk- he'd finished his paperwork on Friday.

"I don't think I've ever been part of a joint effort like this. Does the BAU do so regularly?"

"No. I've been a part of another once before, with a team in Los Angeles. I've been interested to do something like it again, I actually really enjoyed getting to know another team of profilers." They discussed possibilities a little bit further, and their current perceptions about Agent Crawford, but eventually Blake went back to her work and Reid found himself staring at his desk for a greater portion of the day.


	3. Chapter 3

Will didn't sleep at all Monday night, and showed up to work early. Hannibal was already there, so the two of them took the elevator up to see the other team. The floor was quiet in the early morning as the elevator dinged and opened it's doors for them. They stepped out, Will nervous and Hannibal the image of serenity, as always. Hannibal made his way directly to the conference room upstairs, but will paused at the entrance to the bullpen area. His eyes drifted over the open space, taking note of every desk occupied by case files and used coffee mugs. For a moment, he thought they were the first to arrive, until he spotted movement out of the corner of his eyes. A tall man stood up, facing away from Will. He was lanky, with unruly hair that hung halfway to his shoulders. He slumped a little, and even from a distance Will could see that he was tired- tired beyond the morning yawns and drowsiness.

Will started walking, intending to follow Dr. Lecter to the conference room, when the other man looked up. The two made temporary eye contact, and Will tried to break it but found himself drawn back. The two assessed each other for a moment. Will nodded and turned away again, now hurrying to meet with Hannibal in their assigned room. He felt the other man watching him the rest of the way.

"Very interesting, Will." Dr. Lecter didn't wait for Will to sit, smiling from his seat.

"What?" Will knew, of course, that Hannibal had an eye on him wherever he went. What didn't he see?

"You two. You looked at each other like two animals who had never seen one of their own species before. Are you afraid… or threatened? Relieved, perhaps?" Hannibal's smile looked more like a smirk, and Will turned away from it, looking out the window an into the bullpen. He rubbed his jaw.

"I don't know what you mean." Other agents were showing up. They congregated around one, a tall man with a pale complexion and dark hair. Jack and Dr. Bloom joined the group, and they headed for the conference room. Will took advantage of their last moment alone to jab words at Dr. Lecter. "And I'm not an animal."

Jack walked in as Will fell silent, Dr. Bloom beside him and the other BAU shortly behind. There were seven from the other team, and Will could tell simply from being in the same room that they all had very distinct personalities. Their leader, Agent Hotchner, was very firm. However, Will could see a compassion in him that jack could not show- even if he sometimes wanted to. Agent Rossi was the oldest, and the wisest, and the way he smiled said "I'm willing to enjoy myself," as much as it said "until the time comes to get serious." Those two agents obviously held the most authority among the team, though there seemed to be less of a hierarchy than there was in Will's. When he looked around, everyone was smiling. He forced the expression onto his own face, as he sometimes forgot, and tuned back in to introductions. Most of the rest of the group left little impression- a soft-looking blonde that he doubted could hold up in a fight. A dark-haired woman that looked slightly more capable, but less inclined to interact. A muscular bald man who radiated more alpha personality than Jack, and a young woman in flamboyant clothing who seemed to specialize in computers. He tried to tune out her enthusiasm, which smothered him from across the room, and instead turned his focus on the last one to be introduced.

Dr. Spencer Reid was a nervous person, but Will couldn't tell what he had to be afraid of. His intelligence was obvious from the moment he opened his mouth, but the rest of him was guarded. Will found himself only slightly intrigued, he knew himself enough to have an idea of who this Dr. Reid was underneath. He was still on that train of thought when Dr. Lecter nudged him, prompting Will to introduce himself. He mumbled something, but didn't look at any of the members of the other team for too long. They were far more expressive than those he usually spent time around, and it was almost too much. In a room full of open people, he almost felt out of control. Not enough that he worried about himself in the moment, but within the next few days he assumed he'd do something- whatever he had to- to regain his balance. But in the meantime, casework called. He'd take a break after lunch to teach a class and snag some coffee from the break room on his own floor, and be back by the end of the day to do what he usually did when he was at the FBI building- sit around, be mostly useless, and make everyone a little uncomfortable. But who knows? Maybe he'll even manage to say something useful about their case. Only if he can do so without giving himself away.


	4. Chapter 4

Reid loved the FBI's cafeteria because it was so small. The food was passably mediocre, so most people went out to one of the many restaurants nearby for lunch. On days when he needed space, the cafeteria was his lunchtime refuge. Today, however, someone else had found his quiet corner. Will Graham sat at Reid's usual table, back to the rest of the room, hunched over a thermos. He didn't seem to be drinking from it, he simply held it between his hands- knuckles white. Reid had read about Will Graham in the past, and found his story interesting. However, he'd never had the bad manners to seek Will out to analyze him- Reid was sure that many others had already done so. When they had made eye contact in the bullpen that morning, Reid wondered. Who was Will really? Had anyone bothered to know him as a person, rather than a subject of study? Reid made up his mind, bee lining for the table.

"Do you mind if I join you?" Reid set his messenger bag on the floor and sat across from Will without waiting for an answer.

"Hm? Sure." Will only glanced up for a moment before returning his eyes to the hot thermos in his hands. He blinked hard. _Draw yourself out of the thoughts_, he reminded himself, _and into the moment_. He took a deep breath. "I know who you are, so should I assume you came to profile me?"

"No, actually. Enough people try that I imagine you're ready for a break. So what are your thoughts on this case?" Reid's response almost went right over Will's head- the thought of genuine interest blowing right past him and ruffling his hair as it went.

"What? I- Well, as I said earlier, he's an angel of mercy. But he's ignorant, he has no idea that what he's doing is not, in fact, merciful. Shameful." Will's eyes flickered from the table to Reid and back.

"I agree with you, but what makes _you_ say he's ignorant?"

"This killer clearly has no idea about what motivates a person to self-injure. It's-" Will paused, took a breath, and rubbed his forehead. _Control._

"It's the opposite of a suicide attempt." Reid finished his sentence. "Definitely." Will dared to look up at Reid.

"These poor girls are trying to survive and he's taking that away from them. He's doing it because he lost someone to suicide- doesn't mean he understands anything, of course."

"Except for the loss."

"Except for the loss."

"So, what do you think his endgame is?" Will mulled over Reid's question for a while.

"He's being consumed by grief. His family is going to notice. They'll worry, and he'll pull farther away. When he realizes what he's doing isn't working, he'll be overwhelmed. Turn on himself. Him and whoever he's with at the time." Reid broke their eye contact first, which neither expected. He checked his watch urgently, standing and collecting his bag.

"I've just forgotten I have a meeting with my boss. Thank you very much for your insight. Sorry I have to leave so suddenly." He was gone before Will could even register a look of surprise. Reid knew his excuse had been terrible- perhaps a little too much emotion had come through his voice. Even if it hadn't, he was sure Will would have felt it. Reid cringed at himself as he fled down the hall, finally stepping into a quiet corridor to collect himself before he was overwhelmed by the images brought to mind. _Blood, everywhere. Two sets of hollow eyes. A gun, resting in a mess of blood and brain matter. The world reeked of wrongness._

He didn't see Will Graham in the first hour or so after lunch. Dr. Bloom informed Reid that will taught seminars to trainees regularly, and had one today. Reid nodded, slightly relieved that he'd have some time to regain his composure. He wasn't usually so disturbed, but the failure of their last case and the darkness of this current had him on edge. _Don't let it get to you, Reid_, he reminded himself_. Mask up, it's going to be okay. _And it was. And then he went back to working on the geological profile, marking all three current dump sites, and the dates and times they were discovered.

The first site, with only one victim, was discovered a whole two days after the girl was killed. The second site, also one victim, was found a day and a half after the victim was killed. There were exactly two weeks between the first and second murders. The third crime scene had two victims, found the day of the murders, a week and a half after the second crime. Reid considered this escalation moderate, but knew it could speed up at any time. When he'd put as much detail into the map as he could, he gave the information to Garcia- unfortunately, there was a lot of ground to cover.

"Hey, kid, can you run to the break room?" Morgan came up from behind Reid and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm dying for coffee, but Hotch has me covering interviews and I don't have the time to grab one for myself."

"Yeah, no problem. I was just about to head that way anyways." Reid deftly slipped away from Agent Morgan's touch and weaved through the halls, across the bullpen, and into the break room. When he turned the corner and saw who already occupied the break room, he tripped over himself.


	5. Chapter 5

"So, tell me about Will Graham." Hotchner's fingers met like a steeple in front of him. "Why do you have a teacher visiting crime scenes?" He stared over his fingertips at Agent Jack Crawford. Crawford stared back.

"Will has an extraordinary ability to not just know what a killer is thinking, but to put himself into a killer's head. Reconstruct the crime in his mind. That provides unique insights beyond that of traditional profiling. I think that's valuable."

"I see. And you have to psychiatrists on retainer because..?"

"Our job is hard. You know that. Will's is harder. I think he begins to lose pieces of himself. Ever since he shot Garrett Jacob Hobbes, I've asked Dr. Lecter to keep an eye on him. He's valuable, but delicate. And Dr. Bloom… well, she's just fond of Will. The more support they can give him, the less I'll have to worry."

"Is Will Graham unstable?"

"Yes, a little bit."

"But you allow him to carry a weapon and be present at crime scenes."

"The only person Will has shot so far is a serial killer who had cut their own daughter's throat. He might not be stable, but I don't believe he's a danger to anyone." Crawford crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "When he is, Dr. Lecter will let me know, and we'll take him out of the field."

"I see. Thank you."

"So, why is Will Graham's mental state of importance to you?"

"As I'm sure you understand, I need to trust the people I work with. Mr. Graham is a wild card to me, and I don't want to put anyone in danger if it can be avoided."

"You think that using Will on this task force is unsafe?"

"To be honest, I think using him at all could become unsafe very quickly. But I want to protect everyone involved- my team members as well as yours."

"Well, I appreciate the concern. However, I trust Dr.'s Lecter and Bloom with Will's well-being."

"Very well. Thank you for having this conversation with me." Hotchner stood to shake Crawford's hand- Jack hesitated a moment before standing and accepting the gesture. There was a heavy tension in the room, two alpha personalities testing each other. Hotchner wanted everything under control and Crawford resented being questioned, but they each acknowledged that the other had their own motivations. No use fighting between themselves.

Agent Crawford closed the door gently behind him as he left Agent Hotchner's office, checking his watch. Almost noon. If his forensics team had anything for him, now would be the time to take a look. He pondered Hotchner's agenda for the task force as he rode the elevator down. Hotchner was not driven by the same things he was- more driven to care for those under his care. Crawford wondered at the reasons behind that, and maybe if it meant the other agent was less suited for the job they had.

The forensics team had, in fact, found some useful information. Brian Zeller held up a hunting knife sealed in an evidence bag, stained with blood.

"This," Zeller began, "appears to be one of the murder weapons. It was found in a dumpster near the crime scene. Blood types O Negative and A Positive were found on it, that matches both of our victims. However, this is only cause of death for one victim. The second girl was killed with something else. Beverly?"

"As I was looking for trace evidence on the bodies, I noticed solvent burns around the nose and mouth." Beverly Katz indicated with a gloved finger, Jack frowned at what he saw.

"They inhaled some sort of chemical shortly before death? Was it recreational?"

"These girls weren't huffing. When I checked their nasal passages, I found a heavy dose of dichloromethane- chloroform."

"He tried to knock them out first."

"Most likely, but it's clear that he didn't do his research. Chloroform, in high dosage, is lethal. Our second victim died of cardiac dysrhythmia- irregular heart beat. Gave her a heart attack."

"So the first girl was affected, but not killed, and the second girl died after inhalation. Why?"

"I have a theory. Our first victim has a body mass within healthy parameters. Her body was able to handle it. Our second girl, however, is severely underweight- most likely from some sort of eating disorder. Eating disorders stress the heart. That, plus the fright and the chloroform was probably too much for her body to handle." Beverly shrugged. "Our killer continued with his ritual, though. It's just that she didn't live to feel it."

"I don't know if I should feel sad or relieved," Jack sighed.

"I'm leaning towards relieved." Jimmy Price snagged Crawford's attention and directed it towards a large computer screen. "While Beverly was running chemical analysis, I managed to get two complete prints off the knife handle."

"Are they in the system?"

"I've just put them into AFIS, so I should have some preliminary results by this afternoon. With any luck, we'll have two or three firm candidates by the end of the day. Assuming he's in the system."

"Check beyond state parameters if you have to," Jack urged. "We're not leaving any stones unturned."

"You got it."

"If you find anything else, send it upstairs. Agent Hotchner's team should have a look at this, as well."

"The file by the door has everything we just told you, plus some. Victim's medical records, so on." Beverly gestured to a table at the front of the autopsy room. "Hope it's enough to help."


End file.
